Google almost any question or topic and you’re bound to find some answers, even to queries as odd as, “What’s an excuse for a black eye?”
The biggest problem for me would be convincing friends or family to believe any of these alibis.
Here are a few suggested excuses:
– My horse butted me in the face. (I don’t ride, never have, wouldn’t know where to locate a steed or a stable.)
– I’m a martial artist. This is not my first black eye. I walk around with a black eye most days. (Martial arts and equestrian pursuits are equally absent in my daily routine.)
– A visitor was swinging her arms demonstrating her story for those sitting at my kitchen table, and as I came up behind her carrying a tray of warm butter tarts she drew back her elbow and unintentionally punched me in the eye. (A tasty scenario, but a sham nonetheless.)
– I dropped my hairbrush under the sink. When I bent down to retrieve the hairbrush, I bumped into the corner of the sink. (Really?)
– A toddler and I were playing on the floor. The two-year-old flung a wooden block that thumped the bridge of my nose. (A plausible likelihood 20 years ago, but not today.)
I understand why any female with a black eye would be concerned with how to explain it.
Chances are any viewer’s first conclusion would be that the woman is suffering physical abuse perpetrated by someone, whether a parent, boyfriend or spouse.
But suppose the true reason for the black eye has no relation to abuse of any sort?
How does the woman face the world in her daily activities, knowing the thoughts likely percolating in the minds of everyone she meets, even total strangers?
It’s possible to delay the weekly shopping trip until the purple bruise fades to green so as to avoid calculating glances from store clerks and bank tellers, but by then the fridge could be running on empty.
Only movie makeup generously applied with the gusto of a dry waller filling a seam can mask a shiner in its first 48 hours.
Finding a plausible excuse for a shiner has occupied my thoughts for the last two days after I woke up one morning with a purple raccoon rim under one eye.
As I reached for my toothbrush and saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror my first thought was, “Wow! Where did that come from?” It didn’t hurt. I hadn’t fallen out of bed or bumped into the night stand.
Only one explanation was possible. Because I take prescription blood thinners, my skin easily bruises. The slightest pressure such as a dog’s claw raking down to my knee, or a pinch from a manual can opener will bruise.
The bruise gradually fans out like a jet plane’s contrail.
I evaluated the bruise and concluded my eyeball was not involved. This was simply a bruise of the lower eyelid.
No doubt what happened, the night before while watching late night news, eye drops had oozed out of the corner of the eye; the eyelid became uncomfortably itchy.
Absentmindedly I had rubbed the eyelid, too vigorously.
To track any changes that might occur I took a photograph, and another two hours later.
Gradually the bruise adopted a colour that matches my Land’s End fleece top.
Visitors were too polite to ask, “What happened?” though their curiosity was clear.
Before I delivered the medical history leading to my pugilistic disfigurement, I tossed out the old comic’s line, “You should see the other guy!”
Claudette Sandecki checks the mirror daily from her home in Thornhill, B.C.